


Hope Like Thunder

by magicknickers



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Community: sortinghatdrabs, Drabble, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-25
Updated: 2012-06-25
Packaged: 2017-11-08 12:23:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 492
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/443155
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/magicknickers/pseuds/magicknickers
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He allows himself to hope.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hope Like Thunder

**Author's Note:**

> First place drabble at sortinghatdrabs for week #141! I'm so flattered. :)
> 
> Warnings for angst, some bending of canon.

He can feel it in his bones as he lies awake at night, dark eyes staring up at the ceiling, seeing something other than the walls that cage him. He can feel _her_ , Lily, lingering on his skin and imprinted on his mind. Sleep refuses to come most nights, and tonight is no different.

  


Grabbing his wand from the bedside table next to him, he tiptoes out of his bedroom, quickly stepping by his parent's bedroom—blessedly silent and dark—before making his way outside. The warm summer air hits him in the face like a slap, the humidity almost stifling. It is raining softly, the droplets dampening his hair, and the distant roll of thunder and lightning can be heard nearby. There is an odd sort of pleasure in it, though, and he revels in it.

  


The choice to take the path to the park is automatic, as if his body senses her proximity. They say that electrical storms enhance certain forms of magic. Maybe that's why it isn't much of a surprise to see her sitting on the creaky swing-set that sits in the centre of the park, her vibrant hair blood-bright even in the dim lighting of the full moon.

  


She sees him, he knows, but neither of them speaks. He takes a step forward. Stops. Lightning flashes behind her, closer than before.

  


“Hello,” she says, voice clear and familiar even now. It's been over a year and he can still recall the sound perfectly.

  


“Hello,” he answers, and there is something like anticipation curling in his chest. He hasn't been this close to her in what feels like forever. He hopes she knows how sorry he is. He hopes she's forgiven him. _He hopes, he hopes, he hopes._

  


“C'mon. Sit next to me,” she whispers after a moment of simply gazing at each other. She is beautiful in this lighting, rainwater darkening her hair, like a half-remembered dream. He wonders if this is a dream, if he'll wake up in his bed with the salty wetness of tears on his face. He hopes it isn't.

  


He sits on the swing next to hers, wincing at the groan it lets out.

  


“I miss you,” he tells her, and he wishes he could take the words back the moment they leave his lips. He'd meant to say something else, something clever, and _those_ words had climbed out instead.

  


“I know,” she murmurs, not looking at him.

  


“I love you,” he says, his voice barely-there and horribly weak.

  


“I love you. Sometimes,” she says. “I hate you sometimes, too.”

  


There's an indescribable tightness in his chest as he looks at her, and he must be possessed tonight because he leans over and ever-so-gently brushes his lips against hers, bold as any Gryffindor. Thunder claps behind them.

  


They watch the storm in silence after that, the swing-set creaking dangerously underneath them with even the slightest movement, and he allows himself to hope.

 


End file.
